


what we can’t accept

by anstaar



Series: what we can change [1]
Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Gen, Time Period: Vorkosigan Regency, reflections on Kareen/Serg and Kareen/Vordarian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22164796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anstaar/pseuds/anstaar
Summary: Kareen kills Vordarian and survives the civil war. Four years later, she continues to navigate her role as mother to the Emperor to be as the Komarran Revolt begins; or a character study in three parts.
Relationships: Aral Vorkosigan/Cordelia Naismith Vorkosigan, Kareen Vorbarra/Serg Vorbarra
Series: what we can change [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1595479
Comments: 29
Kudos: 42





	1. o tide of the years

**Author's Note:**

> things are generally just left implied, but the abusive nature of Serg and Kareen's marriage and the aftermath of her dealing with that along with the trauma from Vordarian's Pretendership and Barrayaran culture mores. it's not exactly unreliable narration, but it's certainly not objective.

Barrayar has a lot of stories about evil women. 

Isabelle Vorbarra was fifteen years old when her husband-the-Emperor died leaving guardianship of her and her son to his best friend, possible cousin and suspected murderer. Three weeks later he died from a heart attack and she was left to rule as regent until her son (one of the foremost Emperors in the early history of Barrayar and definitely the one who spent the most time writing on the issue of salic bloodlines) decided he was old enough and had his mother and half-brother executed. 

There’s a picture in the Imperial museum, formerly part of Mad Lord Dono’s personal collection, of Emperor Henri’s coronation. It’s a dramatic piece: the shining (literally, Dono is not generally known for having much taste and the gilded artwork wouldn’t help anyone who wished to take on his case) emperor stands in a spreading pool of blood; each hand holds a severed head by the hair. The corpses of his mother and brother are crumpled in the background. The best part of the picture, or at least the most detailed, are the faces: the heads with their wild, staring eyes and gaping mouths, the emperor with his slight smile and glittering eyes. 

Kareen had spent a lot of time in that museum when she was younger, avoiding relatives and prepared with the excuse of education. She had always rather liked the painting. Barrayar’s violent history had seemed a lot more romantic when looked at from a few centuries later. She never looks at her portraits. In a few centuries, perhaps someone will look at her and compose a better story. 

If anyone Kareen completely trusted had ever asked her the difference between Ges Vorrutyer and her husband-the-Prince Serg (no one ever asked, there was no use in knowing) she would have told them that Vorrutyer wanted people to fear him, causing pain was just one way to get that fear. Serg liked the pain almost more than the fear. This wasn’t true, but then, Kareen doesn’t trust anyone entirely anymore (except Drou, but she doesn’t need to be told) so she doesn’t spend too much time thinking on lies she doesn’t have to tell. There are too many she does.

Kareen killed Vordarian by applying one of the delicate music boxes he had bought her on their rather aborted second courtship to the back of his head. Later, she’ll be rather amused that it’s her methodology that upsets people. If she had used her vorfemme blade she would have been defending her honor in the manner appropriate for a woman whose husband had died (though those who approved probably would think it also appropriate for her to turn her blade on herself after). If she had used a blaster it could have been a fight where she reached out to defend herself. The people like to be able to read a measure of honor in a dramatic story; perhaps it helps them ignore the complications. She suspects that’s something her regent can understand, they always seem most aligned in moments of dark amusement. 

Personally, Kareen sometimes wished she had hated Vordarian. Some days she even wished she had loved him. Her mother told her, a little before her engagement, that one should endeavor to avoid both love and hate. They were both the product of pouring too much attention on someone who didn’t deserve it, an ever-burning grave offering. Kareen, young and passionate, but not enough to contradict her mother out loud, had watched her elders and thought she understood. Her mother swept through the world, always polite but with never a word beyond what was necessary. The Emperor chose a path and just barreled through, he looked at her for the first time at the birth of his grandson and that was the last time he looked at his son. Kareen, who could play politics with the controlled grace expected of her, thought that she would never learn their secrets and, deep down inside, didn’t want to. 

She realized later that she had just believed the lies they were trying to tell themselves. Her mother had been the idealist she always accused her ever practical daughter of becoming. She had loved Barrayar more than Kareen could’ve ever imagined loving anything as a child. It was this love, even more than her icy formalities, which had cut Prince Xav to the quick every time he’d tried to speak to his half-sister. She had wanted to give Kareen Barrayar, because it was what she had always wanted. Ezar had loved his son as much as he loved his empire, though Serg never believed it and she wasn’t sure Ezar could have admitted it. It was this love which had made him hate himself as he protected a boy he would’ve killed in an instant if it was anyone else. Ezar had wanted to give Serg the security he’d never known, but he couldn’t give him both that and been true to his duties as Emperor. 

Kareen has lied enough to want to admit the truth, if only to herself. She had loved Serg. It had been an arranged marriage but one she could’ve got out of. She couldn’t even say that he had really become someone else. He had always had that streak of cruelty, he had always viewed himself as someone set apart from the crowd, he had always had a taste for retribution and the edges of a paranoia that had made so many into victims. She couldn’t make herself feel any shock at what he had been by his death but there had been more, once. He had charmed her, yes, but she thinks he’d also given her truths. A chance to see the better man he could have been. 

Serg wasn’t Vorrutyer, beautiful and blessed with easy charm (however shallow Ges’ charm had been). He’d been a solemn youth, underneath the courtesies. His seriousness had attracted her and in turn he’d seemed to like listening to her tales of Barrayar’s past and hopes for its future. That was what had really drawn her in, Kareen decided later, he had always paid close attention to what she was saying. She was more used to boys who seemed to think they were paying her a great compliment by saying they were too distracted by her beauty to follow her conversation. As if that wasn’t an indictment of either their abilities or her speech or both. 

Serg had listened. He was intelligent, with a surprising wit and talent for caricature (years later Kareen can still remember his imitation of a particularly boring Count). His normal reticence would fall away when he talked about how Barrayar needed to change and she was swept up his passion. In dark of evenings, chaperons a careful distance away, he had even spoken of his own losses. Kareen hates Ges Vorrutyer. She burns with it still. Maybe she should hate Serg just as much. More. Perhaps she just wants to hold onto another picture in her mind when she looks into a young, too solemn face forever stuck with his father’s eyes. But he would only have that.

Kareen had liked Vordarian well enough. He had always disliked Serg. Once the emperor had taken her under his protection, offering space not full of Serg, he was certainly not the most objectionable man to come courting. He might have been trying to gain power, but he had at least convinced himself it was for the good of the empire. He hadn’t forgotten about her, either. The gifts had been a trifle clumsy but well meant. The interactions with Gregor had been stiff but always carefully following her guidelines. She killed him without remorse, there could never be remorse or even a hint of regret, not when he’d tried to kill her son, not when he believed it possible to supplant him, but she doesn’t look back on the moment with any true pleasure. It’s bad enough that, in those grey weeks when she thought Gregor was dead, it had been the one moment when she had felt alive. There are people she never wants to be. Who she will not let herself become.

When the fire had settled at the end of the brief would be war, they had brought Kareen’s son back. Even as she had held him, there had been a moment of understanding between herself and the regent over his head. Whatever else she feels towards Lord Vorkosigan over the years, she has always been completely certain that he was watching Gregor for the same signs as she was. The Vorbarra name carries many legacies. Lurking behind the sharp immediacy of Serg stands Yuri in his madness and all the other dark ghosts of her childhood. There are a long list of Emperors that could become figures of nightmare in a child’s dream. There are even more who could lurk in a woman’s daytime fears.

There are times Kareen is afraid her son doesn’t know how much she loves him. Sometimes (late at night, when the world feels as empty as it had when she’d thought she’d lost everything) she’s afraid he sees it right. He can’t be Serg. But she can’t be Ezar. She can’t be either of Gregor’s grandmother’s, lost in different ways. She can’t steal her son’s birthright (looking at the weight on his shoulders, she wonders if those stories were really about better mothers than she is). She suspects there’s a reason so many of the stories about giving everything for your children end in a sacrifice. But she knows well that she could fail him in death as much as in life. 

Kareen doesn’t put away the stories, but in the hour she forcefully carved out to read to Gregor each night, she makes sure to tell the ones where they survive. Cordelia can hold Gregor without fear, but she can give him this. A kiss goodnight. A distraction for those who want him. A title that means something. A future. The night they hear about Komarr, she holds Gregor tight, not letting herself think about whether another boy his age would complain about his mother’s smothering affection. Sometimes the fears of the future intrude into the present.


	2. world's full of weeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You helped save my son,” she had told Cordelia, when the fighting had settled enough that Gregor had finally been returned to her arms. 
> 
> “You helped save mine,” Cordelia had replied, unhesitating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> continued warning for Barrayaran cultural values for gender; and the ableism that comes when Miles enters the picture

A blessing in a daughter is a curse in a son, Kareen’s grandmother had said.

Yulia Vorbarra had survived the Cetagandan Invasion with the poise of a perfect host, and then through violent resistance once her name made her a target. She had navigated the politics of the Cetagandan watched Barrayaran court and the caves of stubborn fighters with the same grace. She talked about what had been won, never about what had been lost. It was almost funny to hear her repeat words that would fit right at home in the mouths of old peasant grandmother’s whose ‘wisdom’ encompassed much of that spirit.

Kareen’s mother had never used the exact phrase, but Kareen knew that she believed it. Perhaps that makes Kareen the next step on the chain of generational progress, from certainty to silent agreement to a declaration that such a statement is as ridiculous as Lady Vorkosigan clearly thinks it is. She will never have a daughter, so maybe she’s letting down the movement of history by understanding her mother and grandmother’s feelings instead of rejecting them. 

Kareen had wanted a son. She had wanted a son before she knew that he would be prize that would extend his grandfather’s shield (long before the nightmares of a daughter and Serg’s attentions). She had wanted an heir for the house of Vorbarra. A strong boy, fierce and unafraid. A man who could rally troops and make ministers fall into line. 

A reticent daughter is a fine gift to send to court. A daughter should be silent and watchful, understanding the power in her smile and the weight of eyes on who she would grace with her attention. Her power is in her social graces, in how she can inspire the arms of men – father and brothers and husband and sons. A son needs to speak. He can’t be ignorant of the political game, but he should shape it forcefully, not with the delicacy of a woman’s touch. Even before, Kareen had been aware that was just another image to hide more complicated truths.

In a story, she would have been completely unaware, the twist in everyone meant to protect her the punishment for ignorance. One father who could do nothing, another an emperor who coldly judged her worth not enough for trust that could’ve saved lives. A dead brother who would have been everything and who left that on her shoulders instead. A husband who she sought protection from, but not from him. Vordarian had believed in that image. He had seen himself as the good man, the one who could rescue her from those who had failed in their duties. He would’ve seen her son dead and supplanted, replaced so could keep that picture. 

Kareen had been well aware of the limits of a protection that relied upon other people even before she had needed it. She had watched the court and watched herself just as sharply. She had trusted sparingly and had been surprised each time it turned out she had still had trust to lose. She took the endless advice during her pregnancy with the quiet courtesy that the dignity of her position required, and never said that they could do with less aggressive sons. Yet she had looked at her quiet boy and couldn’t escape her grandmother’s words. 

Gregor is still quiet, still too solemn. As he sits listening to the modified briefing on the new official Komarran situation, she wonders if it’s the silence from the weight of worlds on his shoulders. Serg had been a frustrated prince. Gregor is an emperor. Gregor is nine years old. He’s serious and dutiful and Kareen doesn’t think that many could see how much he wants to run from ceremonies at times. He’s still young enough that he can just be a picture, but she can’t see him rallying the troops with the driving charisma that had marked his ancestors (that his Regent does so well). She wants him to be a good man, she’s working to try to make him a good emperor. She knows how hard it is for the two to align. 

Cordelia finds her in the nursery. Gregor had escaped to play with Lord Miles once they had finished questioning him about his understanding of Komarr. Lord Miles (never little lord, the affectionate title that could be bestowed on a boy like Ivan Vorpatril would be a joke at his cousin’s expense) is chattering away, his enthusiasm bright enough that if you stood close enough you might be able to miss his immobility. Gregor listens well, he’s told her that Miles’ stories are more interesting than listening to the council, and his has plenty of training in patience. Both boys have had their own lessons in that. 

Kareen is used to the sight of the boy by now, but even in the beginning she had never had to overlook it to accept his presence. Lord Miles is only four years old but has all the makings of a perfect heir. He’s clever and forceful and can talk people into following him – but Barrayar won’t take him any more than Count Vorkosigan will, no matter his blood. Gregor will have no younger brothers, but Kareen can watch him play with his young cousin exquisite gentleness (she doesn’t think Serg was ever truly concerned with anyone but himself). Miles will have no younger brothers, because they all know the risk. Lady Vorkosigan sometimes talks about the campaign she and Alys are heading on the benefits of uterine replicators (perhaps more usefully supported by Padma, who Alys complained was more traumatized that natural childbirth than the woman who’d actually gone through it, as Cordelia’s cheerfully factual charts are often shot down in the face of Vor sensibilities), Kareen helps coordinate the security to keep unwelcome influences away from sturdy Little Lord Ivan. 

Gregor inches a toy soldier within Miles’ reach subtlety enough that the proud little boy doesn’t notice. Kareen watches Cordelia smile as she looks at her son vigorously waving the doll about and wonders what Lady Vorkosigan would think if she knew Kareen was simply relieved that her malformed son would never be a threat. That however charming the boy could be, he will always show Gregor’s strength when they are placed besides one another. Maybe she knows, Kareen doesn’t doubt the sharpness of her eyes. 

Lady Vorkosigan, the Countess-Regent, has tea with Kareen every week. They’re something like briefings and something like taste of straight to the point in a world where that’s the rarest flavor offered to her. Kareen had once wondered if she wanted to be Cordelia’s friend, or just be the sort of woman Cordelia - Captain Naismith, Lady Vorkosigan, Countess-Regent – would want as one. Now, they can’t be friends, but she thinks that maybe they could have a chance, once the regency is over. As different as they are.

Kareen knows why Cordelia’s here. Her eyes don’t lose their softness when she looks away from the children, but that softness is what drives Cordelia forward, not a gift to drive others. They’ve had this talk before. Cordelia thinks nine is too young for the number of and type of meetings Gregor attends. She believes in responsibility, but she sees him purely as a child. There are moments Kareen could almost hate her for that. Cordelia can hug Gregor easily, talk to him freely, join in games as an Aunt of sorts. Kareen sees the Emperor as well as the little boy (she sees Serg’s eyes, his petulance, his precision and none of that is fair when Cordelia ruffles his hair and says he takes after his mother to lead into a little biology lesson on why she doesn’t have a red haired son). Kareen hadn’t been sure of Ezar’s plans and she’d started a war, with such high position ignorance is deadly to others, and there’s no one to say when a child is old enough to start learning. 

“You helped save my son,” she had told Cordelia, when the fighting had settled enough that Gregor had finally been returned to her arms. 

“You helped save mine,” Cordelia had replied, unhesitating. 

A child saved, not an emperor. Cordelia continues to fight for that. Kareen knows that Cordelia thinks that Kareen is fighting for the same thing. They just understand what that means in different ways. Kareen has always tried to avoid being seen. The softness in Lady Vorkosigan's eyes is a light that can shine too brightly.


	3. ran simply, like children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kareen has never been afraid that Aral Vorkosigan wants to be Emperor. Sometimes, as she walks through the garden with her son, she wonders if the man ever feels as guilty about that as she does for not running.

Almost six months before the ‘trouble’ on Komarr was officially upgraded to a Revolt, Kareen woke up to ImpSec men at her door, half with expressions suggesting that they were clearly unprepared to face their screaming Emperor. To his credit, Captain Illyan both winced slightly at Kareen’s remark on their fortitude in the face of carrying off terrified children and not only listened to Cordelia’s lecture but followed up on sending more soldiers to proper handling training. The Regent had signed off on it immediately. 

At the time, Kareen had done her best to reassure Gregor by going calmly with her own guards. She was sure that none of the young men who _shouldn’t_ have been the ones to escort her had any idea that she had been measuring every step as a possible end. If they were being taken, Gregor would be the first to be rescued, his last memory of her could be one of control. It’s important to learn just how meaningless that image of control can be. A lesson he’ll have years more to learn, as she had stepped out of the flyer just where the evacuation plans said she should. 

Later, once they tricky negotiations with Cetaganda were settled, Lord Vorkosigan himself explained that there had been trouble with the schedule, exacerbated by the sudden threat warning and the absence of key members of staff. She suspected that he was only just managing to hold himself back from describing it as a fuck up that would lead to a dressing down that would make those involved wish for lead-lined hose disciplinary parades, a care in language meant to prevent officers from being shocked on her behalf rather than because he thought that she would be shocked. The nightmares of Gregor falling just out of reach fresh again, Kareen almost wished that he had decided not to give a damn about sensitivity, but they have their roles.

Lord Vorkosigan is a conscientious Regent. She is well aware there are many plans that she has no knowledge of, but he has been mostly reliable in informing her about the ones that will have an impact in her or Gregor’s life. If he fails, he can be relied upon to speak and lay out what went wrong without overdone apology or denial of the effects of his actions. He is good with Gregor. He speaks clearly to him, lays out his expectations but has a far easier time remembering he’s a child than most of the men assigned to them. He had once been a boy who had thought violence and disruption were the same as entering adulthood. He knows all the different roles Gregor will have to play. 

Ezar had called Kareen to him after Vorkosigan had accepted the appointment (always after). They had spoken of Gregor. They always spoke of Gregor, the one link of warmth between them, the thing that had tied them together from the moment Ezar had held his grandson in his arms and told Kareen he would protect them. A promise she could believe he meant, dedicated to the future instead of her. He had still been able to hold Gregor then, hiding the weakness of body that was a legacy of a young man who had thought nothing of his future when he’d thrown himself against the Cetagandan invaders. Perhaps he wasn’t far from the man who had weighed the odds of Cetagandan poison against a victory and saw the victory as more worthwhile, just simply living out the consequences in a future he hadn’t gambled on. 

There was much they hadn’t spoken out loud. Serg’s name was never spoken. The dark humor of Vorkosigan speaking in Gregor’s father’s voice – a voice he had been kept far away from, of taking responsibilities that Serg would never have delivered if alive, had been carefully suppressed as he had laid out the flat terms of the arrangement. The Princess-Dowager had listened to the dying Emperor layout his plans for the future, just as the young princess-to-be had listened as her marriage had been announced. At the end, Ezar had promised her that Vorkosigan would never try to usurp Gregor. She had thought the emotion there had been the most genuine. 

Kareen has never been afraid that Aral Vorkosigan wants to be Emperor. Sometimes, as she walks through the garden with her son, she wonders if the man ever feels as guilty about that as she does for not running. 

The Princess-Dowager and the Lord Regent start formal dances exactly as often as proprietary demands. He understands the military and plots their protection and keeps the general staff in line. She graces important ceremonies, keeps track of the social scene of the capital and the position of Count’s wives on important votes. The mirror dance is almost a heavy-handed analogy, the balance of their traditional roles understood and respected. She is never more grateful for Cordelia than when she thinks of the match. 

Vorkosigan is a familiar stranger. He is Old Vor, born to a new world to parents who’d lived through the transition from the old. She knows what values he was taught, what lessons he had, what meaning lies behind specific phrases. Of course, it’s more than that. It’s more than Vorkosigan the shining military star, or the shattering and remaking of his career. It’s more than Kareen as a figure at court. It’s history that they don’t share, yet still somehow ties them together. It’s too many secrets told, the type where it doesn’t matter if they were true or false when it comes down to the man who had told so many of them. In a way, it even comes down to Vordarian’s death, and knowing full well which pieces could’ve been otherwise sacrificed. 

Cordelia had shaken her head and freely expressed how ridiculous she thought the strained respect Kareen’s actions had gained her among certain members of the court, throwing her hands up at the fact that it was kept a quiet as is possible because openly acknowledging just how she was able to get close enough to kill him would paint _Kareen_ in a negative light. Kareen thinks there was probably an edge of hysteria to her laughter at Cordelia’s aggravation at culture shock, but it had still been good to laugh. She had laughed even harder at the alarm on Captain Illyan’s face when he’d come to fetch her for a briefing. She had almost felt bad at that. Simon Illyan is Vorkosigan’s, but Kareen still far prefers him to Negri, who would have been hers for Ezar’s sake. 

It was the days spent calmly going through reports on the road problems in capital, keeping her calm for jumpy soldiers just as she’d kept it for her son, that Kareen thinks of when they bring out the official declaration for her to look over. Quintillan’s had was behind that, Vortala isn’t unaware of the importance of public relations or of her skill, but the old man still struggles to connect the two unprompted. The ‘peace’ on Komarr was frequently fragile, troubles papered over hastily as the real issues were left to bubble underneath in a hope that they would burn out instead of flaring up stronger than ever. The embers that Barrayar hopes to smother with time and the Cetagandan’s stir up with perfect claims to innocence. She wants to give her son true peace, not simply the appearance of control. 

The speech is well written, a declaration of war dressed up in the language of righteous benevolence. Boys will march out to these words, and die for history and dangerous neighbors and politics they have no voice in. She can choreograph the arguments in the joint council over the decision already. She can almost predict how long each person will speak, holding forth in a chance to have themselves heard in a decision already made. She can imagine the resignation on the faces of the Komarran councilors she’s spent the last few years working with. More time. But even if the poison of the past is sickening the present, that still leaves hope for a healed future. 

Gregor is still too young to have him read out the words. Kareen had firmly argued against those visuals, and even mostly sure in her support, she was glad that it had been agreed. They don’t need the image of a child able to declare a war, even as they all grimly acknowledge that the real boy will need to know what it means. Maybe an understanding of the cost now will be enough to stop from having to see her son order wars without thought of what form the payment will come in. She thinks in that thought, at least, she and the Lord Regent are perfectly aligned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: Countdown, set 9 years later on the eve of Gregor taking power, ft. Kareen and twenty-year-old Gregor; the Vorkosigans try to escape power (with sixteen-year-old Miles managing to take up a lot of space even when not there); and probably not Ivan and his many sisters, but he definitely has them


End file.
